Rend (Riven 2)

The shame of it still burned low in my belly and in my cheeks. I had felt like filth. Like a predator. Like a monster.

“The next week he left for Miami. Some friend of some random uncle had a job for him. It was supposed to be temporary, seasonal work, but he never came back.”

“You kissed him because you cared about him, babe. It happens,” Rhys said.

I shrugged. “I guess. But it was . . . wrong. Unfair. I don’t think Grin really likes people that way. It was selfish.”

“Have you talked to him about it since?”

I shook my head.

“He knew just where you’d be. Last night. When I came home and found your phone, I called Grin. It was strange to talk to him. I’ve heard so much about him but never heard his voice. When he answered he thought I was you. You were right, he sounds like he’s smiling.”

I nodded. I’d texted Grin that morning to tell him I was alive.

“I told him you’d taken off and I couldn’t find you. He gave me a street address like he was looking right at you.”

I looked down.

“Did you . . . talk to him about stuff? When I was gone? About how you weren’t doing so well?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. I just told him I’d started going back there. He told me to stop. He knew where it was cuz I used to go there before sometimes. After St. Jerome’s.”

I pushed off the couch and went to the kitchen, where I guzzled a glass of water. Then another. Something smelled off.

Rhys came into the room. “I think . . . Did we fuck it up?”

Rhys grabbed my shoulders, his eyes blazing. “No way. We did not fuck it up. We are going to be happy. You are. I’m going to make you so fucking happy, baby, I swear.”

I choked out a laugh, and Rhys looked stricken.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry. Thank you. I just . . . I meant did we fuck up the applesauce. I think it’s burning.”

“Oh shit.”

Rhys turned off the stove and grabbed for the spoon.

The applesauce at the bottom of the pot was definitely burnt. The stuff on the top looked okay. I tasted it, and it had a little bit of a smokiness to it, but that was okay. Rhys tasted it and immediately spat it into the sink.

“No?” I said.

“Ugh!”

I shrugged. “’S fine for me. I’ll eat it.”

Rhys shuddered, but scooped the top half of the applesauce into a Tupperware and left the pot to soak.

“Cooking sucks,” I said.

Rhys sank back onto the couch, caught my wrist, and pulled me to kneel on the cushion between his knees.

“I want to know where you’ll go,” Rhys said fiercely. “I want to be the one who knows those things.”

My heart beat a little faster at the heat in his eyes, the command in his voice.

“You’re mine. And I’m yours. Do you get what that means to me?”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Tell me.”

His eyes darkened, and he held me by the hips.

“It means I’ll tell you anything—everything. Anything you want to know. Because you’re my husband. Because we’re partners. And it means you can tell me anything. You can, Matty,” he insisted. “I can take it, I swear.”

“Say it again,” I said. “Husband.”

“You’re my husband. I’m yours.” His voice was only a whisper but he infused the words with a dark intimacy that made me shiver.

“Will you show me more of that?” I asked. I kissed his throat. “That possessiveness.” I kissed his jaw, and he held me closer. “I know you feel it more than you let on.” I brushed my lips over his ear. “I can feel how hard it makes you every time.” I trailed my fingers between us and, yes, his cock was a bulge in his pants. “So hot,” I whispered.

Rhys dragged my mouth to his and kissed me. “Yeah?” His eyes burned into mine, and I nodded. “I don’t want to . . .” He gestured between us. “Ever force you. I know you like it when we’re in bed, but I was . . . I didn’t want to cross any lines.”

“I like it,” I said quickly. “I want to see it. I want to see all of it. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Safe. Like if I actually do belong to you then you can’t . . . you won’t. You might not . . .”

“Leave you.”

“Yeah.”

He stroked up and down my spine. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, voice low.

“Just for the truth. Same as you’re asking from me.”

“I don’t know if you’ll like the truth of it,” he said.

“I was pretty sure you would hate mine.”

“I’m afraid it’ll scare you away.”

“I’m afraid I’ll scare you away.”

Rhys snorted. “Okay, well, I guess that’s fair.” Then he softened and ran the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “You won’t, though. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”